


some magic

by loki (lokigurl)



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-27
Updated: 2004-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokigurl/pseuds/loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lorelai mopes, everyone knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some magic

When Lorelai mopes, everyone knows. She walks through town, from the Dragonfly to Doose's, with her shoulders hunched over and the saddest, most pathetic look on her face. When person after person asks what was wrong, she just sighs dramatically and pushes out her lower lip.

"I'm moping."

They nod, sometimes pat her shoulder, and she continues on across the gazebo, past the video store and stops in front of the market. The market with its frosted windows and spinning mini-Christmas trees with pulled-cotton ball tree skirts is mocking her. Mocking her with genuine faux snowflakes, mocking her with the tinfoil icicles twirling waltzes off the tree limbs. She sneers at Taylor through the window and shuffles off, zipping her jacket and rubbing her hands together. It's not even cold.

"Moping," Lorelai says to the next person who raises their eyebrows at her.

"Moping," Patty says as she holds the diner door open as Lorelai scuffs her feet on the stoop.

Lorelai sinks uneventfully into a chair in the corner, away from the holiday chattering of the other customers. Luke brings over a mug of coffee and before he can ask, she sighs again and stares out the window.

"It's just wrong."

"What?"

"This. The nothingness."

"Is it already time for your Sartre crisis of being? I thought you had just gotten over the Machiavellian flu last week."

"I did. And Michel has been maintaining a level of attentiveness for a whole two days. He even willingly gave someone a refund."

"And your rousing success has led you to question human existence?" Luke asks, trying his damnedest to take her moping seriously.

"Led me to question the existence of snow." Lorelai glares at him. "Of which, there is none if you hadn't noticed. There is no snow on the ground, no snowflakes glistening on trees, no red-cheeked chipmunks to sing about hula-hoops."

"Hula-hoops?"

Lorelai shakes her head sadly. "How will Frosty get married and confuse traffic cops if we can't even make him? I have a lonely top hat and half-eaten carrot just waiting on my kitchen table. And snow angels! Stars Hollow won't be the same without the Christmas Eve Tour of the Snow Angels."

"You did take second place last year," Luke says.

"And I would have taken first this year! I had a secret weapon!"

"Secret weapon?"

"Sequins and pink sparkles," Lorelai whispers. "It would have been fantastic. I would have knocked Ginny Marshall off her Snow Angel high horse."

"She's seven."

"She's been taunting me for years," Lorelai snorts. "Not that it matters – there's no snow, there's no snow angels, there's no joy in Mopeville."

"There'll be snow."

"But not for Christmas -- and if there's no White Christmas, then what's the point of having snow anyway?"

"To cause irreparable backache and salt-stained clothing everywhere?"

"It's just not right. Not at all." Lorelai sips her coffee. "With no snow, this doesn't even taste right."

"I'll get you something else." Luke reaches for the mug.

"No, no." Lorelai snatches it back. "I'll learn to make do. I'm strong that way."

Luke walks off to fill someone's mug and pick up an empty plate before disappearing into the back. Lorelai falls back into her longing stare at streets that will not be filled with white fluffy flakes by morning. At least, not naturally.

"Here," Luke returns, shoving a handful of chipped ice in her face. His fingers are red, frozen. She stares at him with a not unfamiliar look of confusion, then back to the ice, and to Luke again. He sits down across from her and gently blows across the ice. Small chips fly off the top and swirl over, landing on Lorelai's nose. And her cheeks. And in her hair.

"Snow," Lorelai gasps, incredulous, as a joyous smile spreads across her face.

Luke laughs at her jubilation and under the table, curls his leg around hers. "Snow."


End file.
